Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens
by Kyrandis
Summary: There was one type of nightmare Damian had never had to deal with before.


**A/N: And now, something I started writing last month, in a happier time, when news of the Reboot did not exist. Dick & Damian fluff I wanted to write after rewatching the movie The Sound of Music. :'D**

**(The song at the end is My Favorite Things from The Sound of Music.)**

**Enjoy~  
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><p>Damian was no stranger to nightmares. He could deal with them just fine. He'd been chased, hunted, shot, stabbed, mutilated, maimed, killed in dreams. And, yes, they were frightening while he was experiencing them, but he was fine after he woke up and assured himself that he was very much alive and unharmed. He wasn't <em>scared<em> of nightmares. They occurred naturally from time to time and were to be expected.

But there was one type of nightmare he'd never had to deal with before.

He woke up with a gasp, his eyes flying open as he sat up in his bed. His legs were all tangled up in his blanket, and his hands—his hands were wet and he brought them up to his face, wondering with a sickening feeling if maybe—

—no. The palms were sweaty but covered with nothing else.

He sighed shakily, wiping his hands on his blanket.

It was a dream, he told himself. Just a dream. A nightmare, maybe, but so what? He'd had them before.

The difference was, in the past, _he'd _always been the victim in his own nightmares. This time, he had been perfectly fine. But he had been standing there—above Batman's unmoving corpse—a bloody dagger in his hands—

His hands flew back up in front of him and he looked at them again. No... No. There was no blood. But if he stared at them long and hard enough, he could almost see them soaked with crimson fluid.

Damian felt sick, and there was an unsettling knot in his stomach.

He'd taken life before. What was to stop him from doing it again? Once a killer, always a killer, right?

He was being stupid, Damian reprimanded himself. He could change; he'd proven it. The fact that he had been a part of the League of Assassins in the past meant nothing now. He had earned his place as Robin, as a crime-fighter, and no one could deny that.

Feeling better now, Damian laid back down again, pulling the covers back up over his body.

...And for the next fifteen minutes, he tried and failed to fall back to sleep.

"This is stupid," he muttered to himself, sliding his hand beneath his pillow. His fingers brushed the hilt of the dagger concealed there; abruptly, he sat up and slid off the bed.

Later, Damian would claim that it was on a whim that he trod down the hall to Dick's bedroom—_not _that he had been feeling genuinely scared and small.

Quietly, he pushed the door open and peered inside.

Dick was lying in his bed, sound asleep and perfectly fine. Damian could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest and hear his steady breathing from where he stood across the room.

Reassured that he hadn't somehow killed Dick in his sleep, Damian moved to close the door—

"Damian."

Sometimes it was hard to remember that, even out of costume, Dick Grayson was still Batman. Damian could see now that the man's eyes were open a fraction. He'd probably been awake since Damian had turned the doorknob.

"What's wrong, Damian?" asked Dick sleepily, sitting up in his bed. "Can't sleep?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine," Damian replied.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

He scoffed. "Of course not," he lied. "I don't have nightmares."

"Come here."

Damian hesitated.

"Come _here_," Dick repeated, in a tone Damian supposed would have sounded more commanding had he not yawned immediately after.

Reluctant still, he moved to the bedside. "What do you want?"

"You're pale."

"Am not."

"And you're shaking."

It was too late now, but Damian forced himself still anyways. "I'm not."

"What's wrong?"

"_Nothing_," he stressed, growing impatient. "Can I _go_ now?"

"Even I have nightmares sometimes," said Dick. "They're nothing to be ashamed of. But don't worry; no one will hurt you here."

"It's not _me_ I'm worried about," Damian snapped, then immediately berated himself. He'd said far too much now.

Understanding dawned in Dick's still sleep-heavy eyes, and Damian couldn't help but feel very, very self-conscious. As a matter of fact, he was just about ready to die of embarrassment. He would very much welcome the floor opening up to swallow him before Dick went into Comfort Mode. Which, by Damian's estimation, would be right about..._now_.

"Just because something happened in a dream doesn't mean it'll really happen."

Hello, floor? Any second now. "I _know_ that. I'm not stupid."

"What happened, then?" asked Dick. "In your dream, I mean."

"It's unimportant," Damian muttered, knowing there was no more point in trying to deny it. The embarrassment was gone, but the queasy feeling in his stomach had returned to take its place.

"If you don't want to tell me, then will you at least stay here for a bit?" Dick asked. "It might make you feel better."

"I'm afraid I don't follow your logic."

"Well, would you rather be alone?"

"Yes." _No._

Dick sighed, looking weary. "Stay with me."

"And what if I say no?"

"... _Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,_" Dick began singing softly, "_bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens. Brown paper packages tied up with strings. These are a few of my favorite things._" As he sang, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Damian, pulling him onto the bed with him.

"That doesn't answer my question. And why are you _singing_?"

"_Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels. Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles._" Damian squirmed in Dick's arms as the man continued to sing in whispered tones."_Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings..._"

"Grayson—let me go."

In response, Dick nuzzled his face against the nape of his neck, his breath tickling Damian as he sang."_These are a few of my favorite things._"

Damian stopped struggling, partly because Dick had him in a death-hug and refused to let him go, partly because it distracted him from listening.

"_Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes. Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes. Silver-white winters that melt into springs—_" Dick's voice caught in the middle of the line and the next one was barely audible— "_These are a few of my favorite things._"

"_When the dog bites,_" he continued, raising his voice a little, "_when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad...I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel so bad._"

He fell silent then, resting his chin in Damian's hair. After a moment, Damian dared to break the silence with a, "What the hell was that."

"It's from _The Sound of Music_," Dick murmured, voice muzzy."Great movie. You should watch it."

Damian hummed noncommittally. Then, "Sing it again."

Dick hugged him even tighter and, for once, Damian didn't protest.

"_Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens..._"


End file.
